Band: A Clever satire with a notso cleaver title
by Landerin
Summary: An amusing satire centered around band! disclaimer: This story had been written for purposes of amusement and education. Nothing is to be taken seriously. All names have been changed or not to protect the innocent


A/N: alright, this is my first story in quite awhile. I wrote this for my senior english class as a stars my high school's marching band. enjoy :)

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Our story starts in the town of Mason with 100% humidity, no clouds in the sky, and without an inkling of air movement, or at least on that football field it was. Everywhere else, it was a comfortable 75 degrees with the occasional cloud and a soft breeze. Needless to say, the weather was much better than it had previously been for the practice before the first competition of the year. It was almost as though the marching band divine being was smiling upon us that day, even the bugs were co-operating at below the usual plague level. It was a nice change for us band members.

Our large, incredibly pleasant drill instructor, Doug (wearing his usual long sleeved brown shirt and jeans, despite the heat), only took a moment away from his jar of icing to yell loudly "Very good, one more time!"

The band had long ago given up on the group groan; this man that we called our drill instructor seemed either immune to it, or too occupied with his food to notice the fatigue and discomfort of the band. I jogged quickly back to my chart, given only 5 seconds to move the 45 and a half yards to my beginning set.

"And go," he yelled through a mouthful of donut and icing, "Emily, if you would."

I cringed at my name and tapped off the starting tempo on my drum.

We all stepped off in perfect time with the drum major's hands and began our next run, only to be interrupted a few charts into the show with a yell of "STOP! STOP! Nick, get up OFF the ground!"

The rest of the band collided with one another as we skidded to a stop from the 245 beats per minute of the song.

"My leg is broken!" Nick the trumpet player called back, not moving from the spot he rested on the ground.

"How did that happen? Reset! Go!" Doug yelled into the microphone, his voice echoing in our heads.

"It's probably the 15 yards I have to cover in 4 counts!" The trumpet player called back, not yet moved from his spot on the ground.

Doug growled, "This is the last run, can't you make it for a few more minutes?"

Nick yelled back in disbelief, "It's a compound fracture!

"Well you have 32 other bones in your leg! Walk it off!" A tech yelled from the sideline, only half-joking.

"Alright, we'll go find you a band mom; she'll fix you up nicely. Where is the band kart?" Doug boomed through the too loud sound system.

As if on cue, the old ragtag golf cart driven by the assistant band director came barreling around the corner at speeds not safe for such a tattered vehicle to be driving.

"H-here it is," the assistant director stuttered, pulling the cart up to the injured student.

"I should go to the hospital, sir" Nick began, but was cut off by the assistant director, "If you want to d-debate, join the debate team. We're having the band mom's fix you up."

The rest of the band watched in disbelief as Nick was driven off toward the school, leaving a trail of blood the whole way.

"What if he dies?" The person to my left asked suddenly. The rest of the people around him stopped to ponder that thought and missed the beginning of the next run.

We all scrambled to catch up.

We finished the run of the show segment, it was one of our better ones. Doug, however, called out over his microphone, "Thanks to the few people who missed the first step off, we're going to do it again!"

The band couldn't suppress the group groan that time.

It was nothing but a normal pre-competition rehearsal.

***

Preparing for the competition ran as usual too, the large bags of food were dragged into the band room and the trailer was loaded.

The band director called us over, the usual black rain cloud hovering over his head.

"Now," he said, "The administration has kindly sent us 3 buses instead of the usual two, so let's distribute ourselves out evenly in these buses."

He did a quick head count, "So 19 per bus, 18 max."

Everyone started to laugh.

"Hey!" the director shouted, the air around him darkening and lightning crackling from the cloud.

"There's no FUN in band! Get back to work!"

The laughter stopped immediately and everyone scrambled to his or her designated bus.

The 2-hour bus ride to the competition was nothing unusual either, the freshman packed into seats like sardines, the normal couples snuggled together (and of course the hand checks that came along with that snuggling), the normal noise of music and small DVD players, and of course the smell of feet. Or maybe that smell was the fact that I had fallen asleep with Nick's barely held together foot dangling in my face.

As we arrived at the competition, the Chinese fire drill began. The band piled off the bus and scrambled around trying to find black socks, gauntlets, and fooling the more gullible freshman that they had forgotten their spats, or that their plume was on backward.

Finally, everyone was dressed and ready to go. The director called us over.

"My friends, I have good news and bad news," he told us, beginning to cry.

Alarmed at his sudden emotional output, we all asked him what was wrong.

He sniffed, "The competition has been canceled due to rain, and I'm just so sad that we've missed another competition!"

Of course, there had to be that one smart aleck of a freshman trying to pull a laugh from the band by pointing out the obvious, "But it's not even raining!" He cried.

On cue, the sky darkened quickly and thunder echoed all around us.

"I'm scared! It's dark!" The person next to me said in a high-pitched voice, then his voice changed to a deep and haunting tone, "Like my soul!"

I looked away from him, alarmed and disturbed.

The band director glared, "The hurricane predicted to hit us here in the Midwest is only 20 minutes away. And no freshman, it does not rain everywhere we go."

To contradict his statement, a bolt of lightning erupted from the black rain cloud floating over his head.

Almost in unison, the band muttered under their breath "Of course it does."

"What's the good news?" Someone called from the back of the circle.

"Well, since the competition has been canceled, the staff and I have decided to hold a practice instead!"

Band let out a loud group groan, even though it was thoroughly expected.

"Stop complaining! Go get ready for practice! You have 15 minutes to be on that field a mile away! " Thunder sounded from his rain cloud and he walked stomped away.

A quad player began to turn red, the freshman scattered, knowing his temper was about to blow.

And blow it did, he went on a rampage. He threw harnesses, quad drums, drumsticks, and the smaller freshman as the upperclassmen dissolved into hysterical laughter. This was normal for him. It would pass momentarily and he would go back to his sweet self.

Lightening struck nearby and the heavens opened up, stopping the quad player's tantrum.

It was nothing but a normal competition.

***

We stood on the field, the water was ankle deep, but I suppose it could have been worse.

And no sooner had this thought crossed my mind that it became worse.

The promised 110 mile an hour winds whipped through the 50-yard line, blowing the flags away and taking the smallest guard girl with it.

"Hey! Stay in your chart! I never said relax!" Doug shouted to the flying girl as we all watched in shock as she landed some 500 yards away.

The smart baritone saxophone player hooked an anchor to her harness and tossed it down into the water.

I shook my head, asking myself, why did I sign on for this? And why were we out here in a hurricane?

The drummer next to me answered my thought, "Band doesn't make sense! Duh!"

"GET BACK TO YOUR CHART!"

I jumped in surprise and swam back to my chart.

It was just a normal day at band, hurricanes, heat, injuries, and of course the strengthening bonds between every single one of us.

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* This story had been written for purposes of amusement and education. Nothing is to be taken seriously. All names have been changed (or not) to protect the innocent.


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